Unbent
I asked for a breath of room,
a sliver of understanding,
and you handed me a diagnosis.
"Abnormal" you said.
Your favourite label for a woman
who refuses to shrink to fit your frame.
Then the quiet deflection, right on cue:
That condescending little laugh,
that passive step backward
the moment a conversation demands actual effort.
It is a clever trick:
I ask to be met halfway.
and you turn my boundaries into a defect.
You shrink back, play the victim,
and call your control a compromise.
Go ahead. Label me stubborn.
Call me unbending.
Roll your eyes and take your games elsewhere.
I was never asking for the moon.
I just wanted a man who could show up
without needing to pull all the strings.
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